


Just Out of Reach

by Carter_Vincent



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 11:43:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4665273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carter_Vincent/pseuds/Carter_Vincent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Christophe DeLorne had never moved to South Park? What if the schools did a penpal program as a project? </p><p>Kenny and Christophe were both extremely not excited for this project, thinking it was going to be just stupid and a waste of their time. They never expected to become as close as they eventually do. With anyone, actually.<br/>Please note, this story has been discontinued and is no longer being updated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction was actually a role play my ex girlfriend, Bri, and I had. She rped Christophe and me Kenny. We got to the end of the tenth chapter before stuff happened and we stopped speaking. Also, because some of the parts, she wrote, I didn't edit them like I do my own so there's a good few misspelled or simply misused words, sometimes a few off punctuation and the like.
> 
> By the way, these chapters are going to be shorter than my usual ones because of how I decided to break them up.

Kenny sighed softly into the old fabric of his parka, his eyes staring out the window at nothing in particular. Today was boring. It was first period and the teacher, Mr.Jamison, had told the class that they didn’t need anything because they were doing a special activity. It was thirty minutes into class and he was still talking about whatever the heck he had been talking about when they first walked in. This wasn’t a good start to his day. But, there was a football game after school today, away game, so he had that to look forward to. He glanced toward the front of the room to check what was going on to realise that the entire class was staring at him. Quickly feeling his cheeks heat up, Kenny straightened up and looked back at the teacher. He was holding what appeared to be a plastic fish bowl with a few slips of paper inside. He looked annoyed as he stared back at Kenny with a crease between his eyebrows. 

“McCormick, we don’t have all day.” Jamison growled, shaking the bowl slightly. Kenny took a look at the chalkboard behind him and noticed that a drawing of the world map was on it. Weird, this was English. Even so, the blond pushed himself out of his seat and trudged up to the front of the room. Jamison lowered the bowl a bit for the short boy and gave it another shake. Slowly, he reached in a brown glove and dug his hand through the papers, finally pinching one between his index and middle and pulled it out of the bowl. “What’s it say?” The teacher growled at him, annoyed to have found out he was being ignored /again/ by the boy. Kenny took in a breath to speak but Jamison quickly added, “Without your face covered. Have the whole class hear you.”

Kenny let out a light growl but unzipped his parka a bit and pulled down his hood, his golden blond hair springing out in different directions thanks to the static. He turned around to face the class, his eyes down on the paper. “Uh..Christophe DeLorne, Bordeaux-” Mr.Jamison interrupted him to say the correct pronunciation. Where Kenny had said ‘Bord-i-uh-x’, he spoke aloud and said, ‘Bord-oh’. Kenny rolled his eyes. “/Bordeaux/,” He said extra loud but correct, “France. French. Eleventh grade, seventeen.” There was an address but he didn’t want to read it. Frowning in confusion, the pale boy turned to face the annoyed ginger man that looked more like Kyle’s father than Mr.Broflovski and asked, “What’s this? And why am I reading this out loud?”

“Well, if you had paid any attention in class for the past week, you would know what this is. But, seeing as you haven’t, I’ll tell you. Our school is participating in a letter exchange program around the world. For the next two months, you will be writing mister DeLorne a letter once a week. It will be written in French and mailed through the school.” Kenny looked curious now. “Since you’re the last person to get your paper, you’re going to be the person to pass out paper. You’re writing your first letter today and it has to be in tomorrow, Friday.” Kenny put the piece of paper in his pocket before taking a stack of papers and handing them out to everyone in the class. Thirty-two people and you would think someone’s name would come after McCormick. 

Mister Jamison explained to the class that because it was the first letter being written that it was supposed to hold basic information about yourself. What you do, your talents, your interests, that stupid stuff. After the first week, the letters were supposed to sum up what happened that week to you or just have a normal conversation with the person depending on if you becomes friends or not. You were allowed to use google translate to write in the other’s language but only if you really had to. Kenny really had to. But, it was slightly useless at first because he didn’t have a damn idea what to put on this paper. He had never written a letter before and didn’t like to talk about himself very much.

‘Bonjour, Christophe DeLorne, je suis Kenny McCormick. Je suppose que vous savez déjà que si si vous avez obtenu la même information que je ai pour vous. Euh. Mon professeur dit que je devais écrire des choses sur moi-même mais je ne suis pas sûr de ce que d'écrire, vraiment. Je ne aime pas écrire, je aime dessiner.’ Kenny drew a sketch of his shoulders up, it took up four lines and maybe an inch and a half at his shoulders. His mouth was open, showing off the gap between his two front bucked teeth. He had his tongue out and his eyebrows raised like he was interested or maybe really bored and trying to stay interested by sticking out his tongue. His hair was neater than it was in person but that was only because he drew himself as if he didn’t have a hood on twenty four seven. He had a bandage on his nose so he drew that in as well and lightly put a line at the center of his left eyebrow and up into his forehead a bit. He drew a little arrow from it to where he began writing again on the line below the drawing. ‘C'est moi. Je ai cheveux blonds et les yeux bleus. Je suis vraiment pâle parce que je vis dans une ville de montagne et ce est toujours neige. Cette ligne de mon sourcil est une cicatrice que je ai eu depuis longtemps. Je ai beaucoup beaucoup de cicatrices sur mon corps mais ce est le seul sur mon visage. Ce est à partir de baseball. Un enfant a lancé la balle très fort et m'a frappé en plein sourcils, il divisé ma peau assez mal et m'a assommé. Fou, non? Je ne pensais pas que ce était possible.’ Kenny stopped and stared at the paper for a minute. God, what was he he supposed to write? He didn’t know if google was even remotely saying what he was saying in his head but he’d just go with it. ‘Je suis dans beaucoup de sports à l'école ... Je ne sais vraiment pas quoi écrire, mec, désolé. Je ne participe pas vraiment en classe beaucoup donc je suppose que ce est assez pour mon professeur de me laisser sortir avec. Bye!’ He chewed his lip for a moment, staring at the paper again then shrugged and neatly folded it. Jamison gave him an envelope for him to write on and took it back once Ken had done and had him lick it closed. No one else was done in class yet. Great. Today was going to be awful.

‘Hello, Christophe DeLorne, I’m Kenny McCormick. I assume you already know that though if you got the same information I got for you. Uh. My teacher said I had to write stuff about myself but I’m not sure what to write, really. I don’t like writing, I like drawing. *drawing* That’s me. I have blond hair and blue eyes. I’m really pale because I live in a mountain town and it’s always snowing. That line at my eyebrow is a scar I’ve had for a long time. I have a lot a lot of scars on my body but that’s the only one on my face. It’s from baseball. A kid threw the ball really hard and hit me right in the eyebrow, it split my skin pretty badly and knocked me unconscious. Crazy, right? I didn’t think that was possible. I’m in a lot of sports at school...I really don’t know what to write, dude, sorry. I don’t really participate in class much so I guess this is enough for my teacher to let me get away with. Bye!’


	2. Chapter 2

"Delorne....delorne... garçon!" (DeLorne...DeLorne...Boy!) there was a sharp 'twak' that rang out across the class room in a deafening echo. Causing the snickering teens to flinch and quiet down almost immediately, their eyes all settled on the single boy in question. Delorne. Christopher, Christophe if you know whats good for you, Delorne. His middle name(s) were irrelevant..he'd tell you with a silencing glare. An agitated look that always seemed to be present on his aged face. There wasn't a moment in the day that someone couldn't tell you they had recieved such a gaze and by now most of the boys in his grade were use to it. In fact they hardly seemed bothered at all..or at least the smart ones weren't. If you didn't bugger the temperamental boy then there was no reason for him to bother you. He preferred his position as a bystander when it came all the petty drama and cliques his school had. Christophe wasn't there to make friends, he only attended because his mother made him. And whatever his mother wanted she got. 

"Oui." the teen grunted, pushing himself off of his desks face while tiredly rubbing at his own. The turt woman standing before him was not impressed by the sloppy show as the younger dragged the back of his palm across his mouth with a silent yawn. Blinking his bleary eyes to clear the haze from them.

"Savez-vous où nous en sommes maintenant, monsieur."(Do you know where we are right now, sir.) she asked, quirking her thin brow up in response to the frustrated appearance of her student. She idly tapped the long bridge of her 'studios' pointer against her shoulder while she waited, arms crossed. She truely was a frightening teacher. A passionate female who took her job in teaching the arts of literature so seriously that even the smallest remark of disdain towards it earned any cocky boy a good pop to the knuckles. She reminded him of his mother.

"Class." he stated simply, his strong accent chopping up the lone english word. Now that he could roughly speak the language he liked to use it as a weapon against certain situations. It pissed people off and it made him happy because he could show them up..poorly of course. 

Mrs. Ancelet rolled her gaze to the side, contemplating how to handle the current state of her student but..inevitably and much to the surprise of every idiotic male in that room she stuck a letter in his face. Roughly but without the aim of smacking him in the face with it. "Prenez Christophe." (Take Christophe.) She scoffed, jiggling the thing back and forth to hurry him along. Obediently the boy reached up and plucked it from her hands. 

It was a light package, with a single slip of paper taped on the front. He didn't look at it until she had passed though and even then he chose to fiddle with the edges of it for a while. There was someones name written on this. Someone who was probably a million miles away and with his luck speaked some sort of whacked up language he knew nothing about. Earlier in the month it was discussed that they were starting up a project. The school had agreed to allow mail to pass between students from different countries. It was a way to expand their little boarders by an entire world the teacher had said. It was supposed to be neat to have a penpal from another place and it also played as a major part of your grade if you failed to reply once a week. Barbaric. Because he didnt know how to speak anything but the words of his own country and a few neighboring ones. Another requirement for this, learning to write and read in whatever tonghe they spoke in. That wasnt even what bothered him to be honest he thought, peeling the bit of paper off the front that had his name on it and pushing it to the corner of his desk. The idea of trying to talk to someone about himself was bothersome. It made him uncomfortable. 

"Ken..neth." he murmured lowly, sounding the name out oddly. It was foriegn that much was sure. American to be exact seeing how english was the language and Colorado was the state he lived in. South Park? He squinted at the address on the front of the crisp envelope. Was that a subdivision or something? 

"Maintenant!" (Now!) Ancelet barked, cutting the chatter down as she paced back up to the front of the room. "C’est votre première lettre. Dois-je vous rappeler que vous devez avoir un respone demain afin qu'ils arrivent à votre partenaire à temps. Suivez les directives que je vous ai donnés et vous allez passer ce semestre." (This is your first letter. Need I remind you that you must have a respone tomorrow so that they arrive on time to your partner. Follow the instructions that I have given you and you will spend this semester.) she explained, going on to inform them that the rest of the class period was to be spent reading their partners letters and thinking of how to respond. She set a stack of papers on his desk, being the first chair in the front row it was his duty to pass the papers a lot. He took one from the top and handed the pile to the scrawny boy sitting beside him. He did much of the same and so on and so forth. 

Hesitantly and with a moments pause he flipped the envelope on its side and pinched the corner of it between his fingers. Making a clean tear along the edge. Shaking the now open package until the paper dumped out onto his desk. Sliding the unneeded trash to the side he laid out the letter, smoothing out the creases so it was flat and began to inspect it. 

They had nice writing, and if Christophe hadn't of known the boys name he would of thought that it was a girl who had written it. Swallowing the brunet read through the first couple of lines, a brief smirk already making its way onto his face. They were so formal..saying his whole..or most of it, name like that. Dumb. Did the other have to use translations he mused? Squinting or occasionally rereading a couple of words to understand the meaning of the sentence. Probably, if he spoke english. But surprisingly it was a prettt beefy letter for someone who 'didn't know what to write.' Mole even got a picture with his. Which surprised him because it was above mediocre, and while it looked cartoony the french boy could vaguely picture the other. Adding color to mind and not white and blue like it was on paper. The 'blonde and blue eyed' boy looked like a dorky trouble maker.. if the little square across the picture versions nose wasn't enough of a hint. He frowned, looking at his own blank paper. I can't draw..

Picking up his pencil he figured he'd have to improvise with something else. Maybe? Ducking his head Christophe began to scribble out his response.

"Your write like a girl, McCormick." he started, skipping a line before adding the rest of his thoughts. "But since you know my name and I know yours..i'll give you a tip. People call me Mole here. Its a nickname because I like to dig, and im good at it? Mon ami says its my 'code' name but that was years ago.   
Our teacher told us the same thing two weeks ago. She threatens detention if we are insubordnate. Ancelet is a frightening female. She'll bust your knuckles for anything. So i guess ill try to write some? I don't speak english to well though..Or draw." he pointed out, ignoring how blocky and dark his words looked in comparison to Kenny's. "I do not take art, just ROTC. You get to be outside a lot in that class. Which i spend all of my time there, so I am probably darker then you since it only snows in winter here in France. ( What the hell is South Park by the way? )" he wrote in parenthesis on the side of the paper long ways.   
"Uhh..I have green eyes and brown hair, my mamam cuts it so its not as decent as yours. And I have a couple of scars too. Not exactly from a missfire in baseball though. (Or whatever else you do. How the hell do you have so many. ) I got attacked by a stupid dog when I was eight. I hate dogs. Uhh i dont play alot of sports but you should illiterate next time. Fills up the page? Since neither of us participate much. History trumps english. So.. revoir américain blond." 

Satisfied that he wouldnt get busted for a half assed letter he folded up the page and stood up from his seat. Walking to the front table to put his work in one of the envelopes their teacher had provided. Licking the nasty glue to close the package up before writing the address on front. Once he had it complete he returned to his spot and promptly laid his head back down on his desk. Crossing his arms over the boys letter to keep the thing from being snagged. Now..he would wait.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been four weeks after Kenny sent his letter than he got one back. Nothing had really happened since then, three baseball games on two Tuesdays and one Wednesday and four football games, all of which on Fridays, like every week. The rest of the sports he was in were spring sports, it was still earlier in the school year so it was fall and winter sports. Though, baseball was outside of school and went all year round except the blizzard part of winter. There was a cheerleading competition in two days and he had an essay to finish. That was really all that was happening in his life currently. As told, the next day in school, Kenny had to bring it into class to show Jamison. Next was to laminate or whatever it. Everyone had received a small, one inch thick binder and had to write ‘Letter Exchange’ on the front in sharpie and their names in the bottom corners. You had to put it was plastic slip-things and clip it into the binder. At the end of the two months, you were supposed to reread all of the notes to see how the other has progressed in your language (if they happened to not speak your language) and also to see how your notes have changed to one another to each other, whether they’ve become more comfortable if you became friends or if the writing became more forced if you didn’t like each other. Kenny thought it was stupid either way. He had checked the other day, it took two weeks for a letter to be sent between Colorado to France, that meant in two weeks, Christophe would get his letter and two more weeks, Kenny would get one back. In short, Kenny would only be getting two letters by the end of the two months. Stupid. 

Kenny read over the letter and cringed slightly. This ‘Mole’ was much better at English than he was at French. What kind of name was that anyway? /Mole/. That was a stupid name. Okay, Kenny would admit, he was a bad mood today. With a sigh, he got a piece of paper and his pencil and sat down on his old, broken mattress that sat on his strained carpet and started writing, using one of his binders as a table. 

“-Christophe” Kenny made the name specially swoopy and swirly, even going as far as hearting the i. He dropped two lines and began writing again. “Asshole, je ne écris pas comme une fille, je écris assez. Il ya une différence. Bien, vous n'êtes pas la seule personne qui dit que je écris comme une fille, beaucoup de gens le font. Quand je ai commencé l'école secondaire (que nous appelons ‘High School’ au fait), Je ai obtenu un zéro sur mes deux premiers papiers et mon professeur ne prendrais pas mes devoirs. Lorsque je ai demandé pourquoi, ils ont dit que je devais écrire et pas ma petite amie. Que je ai trouvé particulièrement gênant puisque je ne sors pas, vraiment.” Kenny glanced at the side note on the side of the paper and chuckled. “South Park est la ville où je habite, doofus. Comment est votre dernières semaines connaissez? Il a été un moment depuis que je ai envoyé ma dernière lettre. Si je ai fait mon droit de mathématiques, nous allons seulement partager tout sauf quatre notes entre les deux d'entre nous dans les deux mois, nous faisons cela. Est-ce pas stupide?” Kenny chewed his cheek as he stared at the paper, not sure what else to write. “Je ai une compétition de cheerleading demain. Depuis que je ai écrit cette autre note, je ai eu un peu de jeux de baseball et des matchs de football. Mon équipe a remporté deux des trois matchs de baseball et nous avons gagné les quatre matchs du football (bien sûr, les règles de l'équipe de football de mon école!)” He doodled a football and a football helmet beside this so Christophe knew what ‘football’ he was talking about. “Je aime beaucoup les chiens, personnellement. Désolé d'entendre que l'on vous a attaqué ... Je ai été attaqué par un singe quand je avais neuf ans. Je ne vais pas vous appeler Mole, par la manière, mec, ce est un nom stupide. Aucune infraction. Pourquoi avez-vous fait beaucoup? Et comment voulez-vous devenir bonne à creuser? Je aime l'histoire américaine, mais ce est tout. Ma classe préférée est essentiellement un sujet de mathématiques. ROTC? Ce est cool, mon école n'a pas cela. Nous avons une chose mility club mais ce est assez stupide donc je ne vais pas. Je veux être dans l'armée américaine quand je suis plus vieux. Je me suis réveillé dans un magasin pour animaux de compagnie maintenant, si. Que faire? Ou si vous voulez faire si vous ne avez pas encore un emploi.” What else should he write? Kenny drew out how he imagined Christophe looking. He drew the same hair style for the most part as he had for the sketch of himself, he did make it look a bit more choppy and messy though. He filled the hair in with graphite since it was brown. Since Christophe said he spent most of his time sleeping, Kenny shaded in shadows underneath his eyes. He gave him a more matured and masculine facial structure going off age and the harsh handwriting he had. Kenny went to his dresser and pulled out his secret drawing pencil set and took pencil made for shading and walked back to his bed. He very lightly coloured in Christophe’s skin to show that he was tan. Once done that, he used a blending tool he had to make the hair and skin neatly coloured instead of scribbled. When he was completely done with the drawing (which took up about the majority of the paper that he didn’t use to write on), he wrote underneath it, “Ce est ce que je pense que vous ressemblez.” That was all he could think to write so he folded it and put it in the envelope he had gotten from Jamison in class that day. He left to the post office and put it in the mailbox before going to his friend’s house. 

‘Asshole, I don’t write like a girl, I write pretty. There’s a difference. Though, you’re not the only person that says I write like a girl, a lot of people do. When I started Secondary School (we call it ‘High School’ by the way), I got a zero on my first two papers and my teacher wouldn’t take my homework. When I asked why, they said that I had to write it and not my girlfriend. Which I found especially annoying since I don’t date, really. South Park is the town I live in, doofus. How’s your past few weeks been? It’s been awhile since I’ve sent my last letter. If I did my math right, we’re only going to share all but four notes between the two of us in the two months we’re doing this. Isn’t that dumb? I have a cheerleading competition tomorrow. Since I wrote that other note, I’ve had a few baseball games and football games. My team won two out of the three baseball games and we won all four games in football (of course, my school’s football team rules!) *doodles* I like dogs a lot, personally. Sorry to hear that one attacked you...I’ve been attacked by a monkey when I was nine. I’m not going to call you Mole, by the way, dude, that’s a dumb name. No offence. Why do you did a lot? And how do you become ‘good’ at digging? I like American history but that’s about it. My favourite class is basically any math subject. ROTC? That’s cool, my school doesn’t have that. We have a military club thing but it’s pretty stupid so I don’t go. I want to be in the American Army when I’m older. I woke in a pet shop now, though. What do you do? Or want to do if you don’t have a job yet. *drawing of Ken’s image of Chris* This is what I think you look like.’


	4. Chapter 4

The mailing system he learned was slow. Inadequate and stupid. While the rest of the boys in his class all got their replies within the week, or even eight to ten days his took his four weeks and an extra two days due to the woman in the head office getting his specific letter mixed up with another grade level. So on a friday morning when he came trudging into the class room looking irritated and Mrs. Ancelet called him over to her desk he was kind of surprised to finally receive, his letter. Thanks to a majority of the class having exchanged responses successfully their literature teacher didn't allow them the time to write during the period anymore. Instead you took it home and worked on it like homework but damn it he didn't have the patience anymore. Christophe had taken enough bullshit about his project since week two and it may have..bothered him a bit that he didnt have the flimsy piece of paper to flap in their greedy little faces. So when his teacher began to drone on about the topic they had been going over the past couples of days, some nonsense about a poem he had little hope in dechipering, he set up shop. Tediously tearing the edge of the envelope away he slid his fingers in between and quietly pulled out the paper. Unfolding and laying it out against the text book to disguise the page so he could read it without the devil woman thinking it was anything but, work. 

Like before there was a picture, but this one covered a good chunk of the page and it was also colored in. There was alot more effort put into this one obviously and if he know any better he'd say it was "Me.." he murmured silently, scrunching his expression in annoyance at the fact that it did in fact say so just under the doodle. Regardless he couldn't help but study it for a while, completely forgetting about the chunky paragraph written above and around the image..as well as the curious pair of eyes peering over his shoulder. 

"Ohh tu as une fille?" (Ohh, you have a girl?) the boy started. Christophe scowled, blinking out of his stupor in agitation to look at the board up front. She hadn't noticed yet so in an effort to keep it that way he bluntly ignored the other..who persisted. "Son droit de fille? Regardez son écriture..." (No idea what “Son droit de fille?” means but the second sentence is “Look at her writing...”) Mole tensed as he felt the nameless kid lean forwards in his seat, the dark haired male's bushy hair tickling at the side of his ear. Whats his face was the class hoot, a cocky little boy who liked to bury his nose in everyones juicy affairs. The head honcho in a preppy clique that people ran with for the sake of leeching off his popularity. The kind of person that really..shouldn't get a part in this over due reading. 

Christophe snapped the book closed, sitting up in his desk so he could turn around and glare at the surprised boy. "Aucun de votre dieu salope d'affaires sacrément." (None of your goddamn business, bitch.) he stated simply, jabbing a finger into the center of the others forehead. 

That had been the end of first period for him. Because he had grabbed his dusty school bag and promptly left the room, climbed down the multiple set of stairs. Passed through many a hallway and pushed out of the back door. He didnt particularly skip school all of the time because they were quick to tattle on his ass to his mother but as he hunched his shoulders. Flipping the collar of his standard uniform jacket up against the breeze he decided that an early weekend would be worth it. An hour and a half he walked, passing through the different levels of poverty until he got to the large metal gate of Yardale. A pristine, private school that his blonde british friend studied at. He always waited here when he skipped, so they could walk home together. That and maybe earn a chance to mooch food off the guys sugar sweet mother. "Again.." he sighed, sitting down beside the park bench in front of the shady school yard. This time when he opened his book to look at the letter he read the actual words first. 

The attitude change between this one and the last was drastically different he noted pretty quickly. Not so tense and a lot more amusing the french boy snickered, giving a coy smirk from behind his gloved fingers as he skimmed over the words. Asshole? He actually chuckled under his breath at that..and the content that followed. A few times he studied bits and pieces of the hand written letter. Flicking his attention to every little corner before feeling like he had enough of a response in mind. Shouldering off his bag and unzipping it Chris pulled out a binder and pen, turning to a fresh page.

"Kenny,  
You said it wrong. I think your pron..unciation is supposed to be connard. The 'd' is silent. Pretty and girlie may be different but you dotted my I with a heart..thats 'pretty' feminine. Alot of people here are going to think you write like a girl to now. Mostly they think im partnered /with/ a girl. So it does not surprise me that your swoopy writing has been mistaken before. How did you fix that shit?" he tapped his pen against the plastic side of his folder, tilting the page a bit so he could write down the side again. "( When people say park they mean trees and ponds bitch. Places you take people to for walks? )" beside that he did his best to doodle a pond itself, coloring it in with his blue writing utensil while adding a few random trees. He returned his gaze to the main parapraph once more. Pausing. How had his past few weeks been? Well, nothing has changed much he wanted to say. Nothing at all..but that sounded just as idiotic as the, "It's been fine." answer he wrote, short and sweet. "I ditched class today for this, writing assignment and we are only going to exhange a couple..seems like a waste? There is a kid in class who has five...bastard got a partner from England.   
You mean..spirit squad? Sure your not a girl? Obessed with sports events and winning? Hideous, a dog can snap bone in seconds you know. Uhh..do you have one. I'd say sorry for you misfortune but it amuses me. how do you find a monkey where it snows all the time! Mole, is the name people avoid pixie. I like it bcause I like digging. Its..just what I do and I got fast at it! I could dig out your 'football' feild before morning. We studied American history some..world war? I suck at math. Mostly algebra, do my homework. ROTC. Its a 'big' deal down here. Develope the club and maybe you will get attention from a recruiter for your army..uhh what division are you interested in?   
Pet store seems good for you, I dont have work yet and I guess I want to go into the french force to. To travel. 

That actually looks close. Only i have a scar on my chin, busted it on a rock. Can you draw, giraffes?" he finished, leaning his head back against the wall he was leaning against. Christophe had killed almost an hour writting that letter..and he had written alot he realized. Dropping his gaze back to the paper after a while. For a boy who hardly spoke more then thirty minutes or so a day he felt off commenting so much. Was it easier to do it because it was on paper and not face to face? Or was it the fact that the boy wasn't out to prove something by agitating him yet. This..is what normal conversation was like then? He muled over it for a while before the bells started to ring and students poured out of the building like rushing water. He made the move to fold the letter up so he could save it for tomorrow but before he did he left a brief note on the back, bottom corner. "I don't date either.  
And good job on your wins."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's pretty short, I apologise.

The first three weeks of the ridiculously boring wait period went by as normal. The Monday of the fourth week was nasty however. He got in a fight with his parents as a way to protect his little sister. Now he was missing a tooth, had a black eye, busted lip, and a few decent black and blue marks across his body. Because of this, he hadn’t been to school all week. Each day he checked the mail once the end of four weeks was breached. It took exactly thirty-one days for the thing to come. An exact month. Awful. It’s not like he was super excited but the letter was the only thing he had to look forward to until the bruising went down, so when he got the paper envelope, he couldn’t help but grin widely and hurry back to his room to instantly get to reading it and replying. Of course, it wasn’t that easy. After more brutal fights, his parents were on high watch and checked every single thing he did to make sure he wasn’t 1. trying to run away (again) or 2. somehow telling someone what happened. It was easy to tell them he was doing homework and have them believe him. He didn’t have an technology on him so it made getting away with not being suspicious a lot easier. 

He couldn’t help but laugh softly at the letter, amused by more than one part of it. He was pretty proud of himself for correctly drawing the other without any major details. Just missed one little scar and that was because he didn’t know there was one to miss. Unlike the first two, he actually waited and thought about what he should write. After thinking for a few minutes and not coming up with anything, Kenny decided to draw a giraffe instead. He flipped to the back of the paper and drew out a realistic and detailed picture of a giraffe, complete with shading and texture for the fur. It started at the top of the paper where it’s ossicones just touching the top of the paper. The end of the muzzle went to the left side of the paper, it’s upper lip just barely getting cut off. It’s shoulder just barely begun at the bottom of the paper making him unsure if it was in proportion of not. It was but he always stressed himself over dumb things like that. Beside the centre of the neck, he wrote, “Est-ce que bon? Je ne ai jamais attiré, ou pensé à dessin, une avant, donc désolé si ce est mauvais.” He flipped back to the other side and turned the paper sideways to answer the side question. “I don’t know why it’s ‘Park’, it just is. I didn’t name the town. And there’s only one park and one pond in my town and they’re both shit. It’s a small town in the mountains.” He reread Christophe’s letter a few times, still not sure what to write. Well, he decided to start off with,   
“-Christophe,” with another heart on the I and then skipping a line, “I purposely put the heart there to be a smartass, sorry that wasn’t clear enough to you. By the way, I’m totally dropping the French. I’m shit at it and you’re pretty good at English so you should understand this.

I hope they think I’m a girl, then they can be all jealous of you for having some hot babe as your penpal since you’re jealous that they have closer people to talk to. I know what you mean, though, my friend got someone in Montana! Like, what the fuck? That’s only two states away! I thought it had to be outside of the country, like, that’s totally not fair! I wish you were closer, this stupid project might be a bit more worth my while.” Kenny paused to reread his writing and realised it sounded a bit douchey. “But I enjoy writing you so far! Even though the project is over already. Such bullshit. I didn’t learn shit in French. Actually, I didn’t learn anything from this except that my writing is female internationally. And I resolved that by physically having my mom write a note saying that it’s just how I write and I can’t write any different. It’s all good now, though. People make me write stuff for them though, like birthday and Christmas cards. At first I didn’t care but once even teachers and people outside of my friends were asking, I started charging. It’s five dollars (4.42 Euro) for Christmas and two (1.77) for a birthday card. I make a surprising amount of money off that, by the way.” He sat there quietly for a minute, still wanting to write more but not sure what to put. He picked up Christophe’s letter again and reread it for the umpteenth time. He skipped down a line to start a new paragraph.

“You skipped class just to write me? Awh,” he drew a heart, “How sweet, I’m touched. I’ve missed school for the past week because my fucking dad took our fight too far again and now I look to bad to cover up with my jacket. He knocked out my fucking tooth this time!” He had wrote this mindlessly but decided not to erase it anyway. What would Christophe do? Call the police? “Shut up, cheerleading is awesome! I love skirts and dancing and it looks amazing on a college app to be a male cheerleader. By the way, army is the division I want to join. The ‘Army’ is it’s own division. Cool that you want to be in the force too, maybe next time there’s a war and America and France fight together, we could kick ass together!” He snickered at the thought. There wasn’t anything else he could think about to write. Until something popped into his head. 

He skipped down to the last few rows of the paper to write, “Hey, since the program is already over and we didn’t get much of a chance to get to know each other, wanna keep writing? I think my teacher said that it was up to your parent if your address was given of not. I think the address I’ve been using is your school’s and not your’s, right? My address is my address. You should give me yours so I can actually, like, write you more than just for school.” Satisfied, Kenny put the now neatly folded letter into an envelope and silently slipped out his window to take it to the post office.

‘Is it good? I’ve never drawn, or thought about drawing, one before so sorry if it’s bad.’


	6. Chapter 6

Christophe could safely assume that as he had tucked the letter away in that envelope and returned it to his teacher the next morning that it was going to be the very last. They only had a couple of more weeks left before the dead line to the project and considering the mail systems current track record his response probably wouldn't even arrive in time. Oddly it set sour in the brunets gut and he found himself feeling a little more irritable for a while. During that time he managed to land himself in detention more then a couple of times by retaliating against a cocky student with an unexplained swing to the fist. Most of those were aimed at the same boy, the jackass that sat behind him in class who couldn't get enough of the fact that he had caught /DeLorne/ sulking. He had even made it a point to try and read the letter he had gotten from his partner, who argued heavily with him, to Christophe. The dark haired boy didn't get more then a couple of sentences in before the he had swivled around in his seat and smacked the shit out of the imbecile with his knuckles. To say the least that earned him a thwart by Ancelet, a hideous sentence from the head man in the office, and an extended period of neglect from his mother. Not that he wasn't use to something like that of course. It was her way of punishing him when he made an embarrassment of himself in front of people, by not giving him any interaction. It made the days pass slow and he almost became dependent on the hours spent trudging around the streets with Gregory when the boy returned from his own school. Who also, very briefly, chuckled about how childish the brunet had become. 

That was his con though, once Christophe found interest in something he absolutely hated to let it go. Was that what this was? Mere interest, or the fact that he didn't have anything to look forwards to anymore. It was almost two months before his mundane attitude turned curious by a call during lunch. Which he had spent sleeping with his head buried in his arms before being signaled over by an attendant and led to the office. He expected to have a 'nice long' chat but when he arrived the lady in the office stood from her chair and passed an envelope to him. "It came really late, but since it was deliverable to the school I kept it. Maybe next time have it sent else where?" and that was that. He got his belated response and as he stuffed it in his bag, saving it until he got to 'remediate' lessons, Mole had the intense urge to crame the paper down that pretty bastards throat. 

Instead he stomped tiredly to the very back row in the half empty detention room and sat down in the corner to tear open his prize. The first thing Mole looked for was the drawing, because he knew there would be one..and it was.. "Oh." he breathed, slouching in his seat when his face and ears started to heat up at what lay on the backside of the lined paper. Christophe was honestly surprised at it, over how much time the blonde boy had probably put into it to give the creature such /detail/. This giraffe. Scrubbing at his cheek in embarrassment the french boy flipped the note over to read the actual reply after a while. Opening his worse for wear binder to try and reply as he went. Which easily enough was the side conversation, "(Sounds like a gutter in a back ally sort of place.)" he started, returning his gaze to the top where he noted with a smirk that his name was written..with another heart..and a snarky reply. This kid was amusing, he had quirks and the further into the letter he went the smaller his stubborn expression got. Mixed between humor and a small pang of understanding. So he wasn't exactly in the best of situations either then? It both struck him with familiarity and stumped about what he should respond with. Eventually he had to take his thinking home and spent a good chunk of time pondering over a decent letter before putting pen to paper again.   
This time he did his best to write in cursive when putting Kenny's name down, equally being a smartass about it by adding 'sparkles' 

“Kenny  
I can sense idiot from a million miles away and I happen to be writing to him. I was also being a sarcastic ass when I called your inter..aptation? of my name, girly. Apologies about my intentions being unclear. N' I thought google translate(am I right) was doing a fine job? But go back to your english words, I can read those ok."

"Oh yea, ill make sure they are all aware of the loss they suffer from not having a busty american women writing them. If they ask for evidence, ill print a photo of one of your famous models..and make them eat it. No! I am not jealous damn it. I just dont like them having something to hold over my head, because the bitches like to jack off their own horns a lot. Its bothersome.  
Montana? Baise.” (Fuck) “The program must of been denied by some of the other out of country schools? If they sought out our neighbors for this letter thing. Well maybe, you should live closer to moi. To save time, it took almost two months this round and the project is beyond over..kinda shitty. I, -" the brunet frowned, staring at that single letter. What did he feel when it came to this boy? Whom he hardly knew anything about minus basic interests and minor, yet troublesome details about home life? Was it alright? To admit and let himself get attached? The silent question hover over his hunched form. Reminding him ok of the proposition written at the bottom of the letter. "- didn't learn anything new about your culture or language either. Aside from your founders strange name choices for towns. N' since your writing is so fancied over seas now, your little business will become a franchise. I have a class lookin over my shoulders(I sit in the front row) Damn clever vixon for charging the teachers your mother wrote notes to in explination of your lady words money for cards. How much have you made?"

This blonde was tugging at an aweful lot of strings in this letter. "I did, and you better. It was a long walk pixie. It has been a long time since then letters were sent so I assume you have recovered from your physical disagreement? Or haven't had anymore. Kick him in the balls next time, they don't like it when you stand up against them and start win..  
Moving on to the fact that you have gone from feminine to pervert in a single note, you plan on going to college? I've personally never thought about it. Which brings us to the fact that your division is simply called 'army'. Thats boring as shit, ours is akin to 'ground support' or 'frontliners'. If France and America fight on the same lines, ill seek your ass out and then we can own the fools going against us together." with the last bit of response finished he jumped down to the very bottom of the page just as Kenny had done. Hesitantly, he scrawled in a simular response. "Oui, it belongs to my school for student confiden..tiality. Uhh, Kenny. I don't really want to stop writing you either I think. I like, your letters so use this address instead." he wrote out Gregory's personal address instead of his own. The british blonde would understand when he explained it to him the next time they spoke. He never questioned Christophe's wishes when it came to a lack of trust in the Delorne household. Feeling like he had nothing really important to add Mole grabbed one of the various pamphlets he had picked up on his way home earlier. Using a marker to write, "Votre girafe était belle, merci." (Your giraffe is beautiful, thank you.) In big letters across the front. It was the least he could do for the other, show him a bit of the country that his penpal lived in. Christophe had already circled a few of the major parks mentioned in the colorful thing as he folded the letter around it and put the think bundle within an envelope. He'd put it in the post tomorrow. On the way to school.


	7. Chapter 7

Kenny had become slightly distant in the three months it took for him to get his letter. The good majority of his friends actually did stay in touch with their penpals and never shut up about them. Stan had gotten from Swedish girl that apparently was a part time model for bras, underwear, and swimsuits. The lucky bastard. Kyle got the kid in Montana, the kid was a boy and also Jewish, he was in the grade below them but ‘smarter than any of the hicks in town’. Eric stopped writing his penpal, saying that he had been a super nerdy person that wouldn’t shut up about anime. Kenny’s best friend, Craig, had gotten someone in Canada. He said that they (Kenny didn’t know the gender) were pretty cool and even sent a My Chemical Romance bracelet in the mail for Craig’s birthday. Which Kenny had forgotten about until the night prior so had to steal ingredients for his cake. It bothered him that his own had decided to stop writing without even saying goodbye. 

That being said, when Kenny got home and was hit in the face with an envelope by his older brother, he was quite surprised. He took the letter, went back to his room, and opened before even looking at the front to see who it was from. He was thoroughly confused when a pamphlet and letter fell onto his lap. He was all grins when he saw the handwriting on the pamphlet. And it was praising his drawing! It actually made him blush but he wouldn’t admit that to anyone. No one ever really called his drawings ‘beautiful’ before, everyone either said they didn’t care, he needed more practice, or that his drawing was a waste of time and wasn’t going to help him in the future. So..This was amazing! It made him feel amazing at least, over the damn moon! He picked up the letter and read through it, his grin getting so large it actually began hurting his cheeks. The blush grew to his ears and neck, a few chuckles escaping his lips while reading. 

The small boy picked up his drawing pencil and two pieces of paper, one blank and one with lines. He wanted to fuck with Christophe’s classmates now. Maybe a little bit with Christophe too. 

Kenny sat down and drew out an extremely detailed drawing of a girl with a large chest. She was leaning over with her arms crossed under her bust, pushing it out of her dress top. She was wearing a strapless that barely went past her ass, a black leather belt went around her waist but it wasn’t very noticeable besides the parts of her hips revealed. Her hair fell past her shoulders (he ever drew in the loose hairs that stuck out here and there) perfectly, soft curls pulling at the ends. Her nails were just longer than her skin line and coloured in with sharp highlights to show that they had a glossy nail polish on. She had plump lips that were slightly puckered, high cheekbones, and a slightly ridiculous amount of mascara too. Kenny smirked at the drawing, it looked like a picture put into black and white, dammit! He was proud of this one! The pattern in her dress stood out perfectly, you could almost see what she was looking at in her eyes, it was fucking perfect! It only took about two hours too! He’d probably have sex with this chick if she simply looked at him! Under the drawing, he wrote, “Show them this, I want them to see it~<3”

Kenny let out a soft laugh, carefully setting the drawing aside to replace it with the lined paper. His hand was covered in graphite, leaving smudges across the paper as he wrote. 

“-Christophe~

How’s that drawing? Show it to them and tell them it’s me, dude, bet they’ll get a kick out of it! I like it, I think I did a pretty good job, personally! Usually I’m shit with realistic people (animals are my strong point) but dammit I think I did great! You have to tell me what they think about it, dude!” He found himself smiling again but he wasn’t sure why. Maybe because he was so happy to have drawn something so great. What should he really write though? He wasn’t sure.. “Yeah, I thought you had stopped writing me. I don’t mean to sound ‘clingy’ or anything but I was pretty upset about it for some reason. Not sure why...Maybe because I like writing you a lot and I was upset that you just kinda disappeared. I thought you just stopped writing me without a goodbye or anything. It didn’t help that my friends won’t shut the ever living fuck up about their people! I can’t talk about anything because I’ve gotten, what, three letters? My friend, Stan, doesn’t have much room to talk though. He could some model in Sweden, she sent a picture in and my pants almost exploded, but he’s only gotten four letters. Apparently they’re going to start Skyping together. The bastard.

Yeah I realised while waiting for you to respond what you meant by “division”. I thought you had meant like...what part of the military I wanted to join, to which I said army. Yeah, we have all the subcategories too. I want to join the frontliners, seems like it’d be the most...fun. I guess. And I can do the most damage to the bastards that threaten my country! I also want to go into college for art classes and for culinary arts! I cook pretty damn well if I do say so myself. 

By the way, don’t worry about my dad and me. We always fight. Sometimes my mom gets involved but she usually just stands by and yells at us to stop. I usually win the fights though since I’m usually more sober. If I don’t win, I usually -” Kenny stopped and stared at the paper. He decided what he was about to write would sound crazy and he might actually lose his new ‘friend’. He erased the last sentence and started over. “- If I don’t win it’s because we’re both shitfaced and we passed out. Or we’ve become exhausted and just can’t continue.” Not having anything else to write, he skipped down to the bottom to finish.

“Thanks for the new address dude, I’ll make sure to use it from now on!”

With that done, Kenny wrote the new address then put the letter in a fresh envelope and left to mail it off.


	8. Chapter 8

There were two options when it came to complaining about the absence of personal mail. One, that the system never managed to deliver his letter and two? That perhaps the blonde American boy had decided that the actual wait between notes was to much and stopped trying all together. It bothered him that this was a possibility. Left him with the sense that he was being left behind by this person he hardly knew anything about aside from the basics. Of course, with nothing to do about it he did what he always did. Shrug the emotion off and buried it six feet below by relapsing into his more reclusive life style. He didn't offer up any participation in class like before, instead choosing to either zone out during lectures or just skip all together which earned him more then one Saturday sitting within those very same walls 'making up' grades and lost time. His mother had begun to back away from him again, growing hesitant over the change and confused considering he was doing so well for a good portion of the year. 

They argued a few times but after that conversation consisted of mundane responses once more. The distance gained by the two of them didn't help either in the on coming months when his god damn father decided to slink back into their lives. Mole and his mother were stretched thin so they had little to throw back in the disgusting mans face aside from some well placed 'fuck off's. It didn't disturbed the bastard enough however because with the lack of compassion coming from his possibly insane wife he started to find ways in trailing Christophe on his way to and from school, or in public in general to try and pressure himinto something. Like a determined begger on a street corner it lasted for weeks..and it was wore the teen out. Having reassurances being rubbed into his tense shoulders by Gregory or being offered a couch to sleep on by the British boys mother did little to appease his restlessness over the issue. They weren't entirely aware of what was going on, no one was..not even his mother, but they tried regardless and it kept him from running away multiple times. A reoccurring thought.

By the fifth month of silence from Kenny he had grown to hate himself again. How the fuck had he given in? Why had he whirled around on the violently wasted asshole and agreed to help him 'fix' his financial situation. So many nights were spent sitting up digging through the internet for information on the people that had screwed over his greedy fathers company. All for a man that was about as grateful as the mercy shown in each 'motivating' shake the brunet received. So eager was he to get rid of the man that he hadn't even realized that amongst the stack of papers Gregory had set on his desk, was a letter. Not until the pile had been swiped from the surface in frustration. Scattering the notes and printed information like confetti about his room. Leaving the heavier envelope to slid across the hardwood flooring of his dark room. Where Christophe scrambled to grab it, dropping to his rump with a grunt and reaching with needy fingers. Shit, how long had this been here? Three..four days? Regardless he slowly stood from his spot on the floor and paced over to sit back at his desk, completely neglecting his mess by tearing into the envelope and spreading out its content on his now cleared computer desk.

The first thing he scrowled his tired gaze over was probably the sluttiest looking woman he had ever laid eyes on. A bustfull female that was stretched forward to expose a healthy amount of her chest to whoever was looking. A to coy expression rest upon that feminine face, in her eyes and he had to look away from it. Red in the face and feeling like he just saw something he shouldn't have. Of course as he glanced back he couldn't help but smirk about it, sliding the picture closer with a chuckle even because oddly it was /so/ freaking Kenny. It took a reading of the sentence below to even realize that this was all done by the work of those hands, it was a drawing? He had to get up and turn on the light to his room just to confirm that yes, it was a fucking hand drawn photo. Not a real one and at that he was impressed. Very. Carefully setting the drawing aside he moved onto the letter with..cheerful content. Amused at how damn excited the blonde sounded about his work. Just for that, he would go to school Monday and brandish the chick around like a trophy as instructed. Moving on he found himself rolling his eyes at the other, what else could he of meant by that? Each 'army' had subdivisions of course. Right now he wanted to change his previous answer by saying the airforce. Flying out of this shit hole sounded pleasant..flying them out of their shitholes sounded great he frowned at the last bit of this notes content.

Pulling a fresh page from the stack in his desk drawer he took out a paper and started to write. 

"Kenny -” he wrote in cursive again,   
"Did a pretty good job? I thought you sent me a fucking page from a possible porno you bastard. I have no hopes of getting this drawing back until all of my classmates are 'done' with it i'll warn you. You should go back to drawing moi more giraffes instead, so I don't have to justify to myself why taking this lady to a secluded area isn't weird. For not drawing people..its really good." he wrote, flicking a wary glance at the black clad woman before returning to the letter itself to re-read it again. It sounded like someone missed their note sharing as well...wait, had I missed it? "I'll describe their reactions in detail to you next time. Merci. 

Uhh..I sort of thought the same thing after a while. The time it takes to get this takes to long, its been almost five months and I can assume by the time you get this one it will be the holidays. Fucking ridiculous. It's..frustrating when you look forward to, getting these in the mail. I like reading your rambling as well..admitedly. But it sort of makes, the wait worth it i guess. Maybe i should upgrade from regular to priority mail. My classmates have stopped talking about a lot of their partners here, I think only a few bothered to keep it up now because we have to pay for the postage. At least your not the only fucking one waiting for months to get a response? Lucky ass bitch though, all I got was a girly sports loving idiot. (Sarcasm, you amuse me) I bet by now she is already modeling for your mon ami oui? Don't soil yourself when he shares conversations with you. Skype? Is that the face..talk thing am i right? This little weasal of a boy does that with a girl during off periods here. I don't know how it works." he bluntly lied, the idea of showing someone his face was..well uncomfortable. These people had to deal with his ugly mug on a daily basis.   
"That's what I meant, and you should slap yourself for thinking otherwise fool. But being in the front lines is where it matters most. I don't know how fun having a first person shooter experience would be but being able to cut open a path for the rest of your fellow arms sounds like something purposeful you know..Thinking? You shouldn't 'think' about art school, its a must. Hand them a naked woman and you'll probably earn your tuition right there. You cook as well? Che you should send left overs. My mamam doesn't make much nowadays..and I don't exactly know alot about cooking either. I have more skill in eletronics, breaking code and deciphering? Or..hacking you could say I guess.

Maybe our fathers know each other? Mine is a shitface as well..i havent seen him in fucking ten years and he showed up for money. Its been.." he didnt feel like he should share such a thing with the other..not when he knew nothing about what Christophe's home life was like but of course, how could he when he hadn't shared anything personal at all.."Not so great. You shouldn't let him hit your drunk ass either stupid. No matter how many times you win. Throw him in a gutter." he offered up, feeling a strange since of anger over the fact that this man handled Kenny like a random punching bag instead of a son. Not that he had much better. "This address is mon ami's..he thought it was amusing that I have kept up so well with this. Normally i dont bother with group projects, never liked them really. But you can keep using this address..I use his house for safe keeping." he finished up. Reading what he wrote once in comparison to what the other had put down. Everything was about right but before he called it a night he skipped a few lines.

"Don't beat yourself up over the silence as much? You'll hear from me.." he added awkwardly at the end, contemplating afterwards on erasing it. Did that seem to, mushy? Or as the boy put clingy. Awkward, weird? Sighing he shoved the letter inside of an envelope so he couldnt change his mind about it and closed it up. Christophe held onto it for another few days however, making good on the fact that it would probably be Christmas around the time his response came in so he went to the craft store his mother sometimes shopped at and grabbed Kenny a spare set of pastel pencils, charcoal and such. Things he thought had been used on the drawings the blonde had sent so far. Like before he wrote on the pencil box with permanent marker, leaving a simple 'google translate these' because the words were all written in French on the items. From the colors to the tips and tricks on the box. When he stopped at the post office that day Mole carefully packaged the prize in a padded yellow envelope. Writing out the address with the assumption that Kenny would understand why he was receiving such things.   
But just encase he wrote on the back, 'do not open until 12/25' as a hint encase it did actually arrive on time before leaving it with the clerk at the post office.


	9. Chapter 9

Kenny’s football team had won nationals, his baseball team was currently in tournaments. Football and football cheerleading was over, along with school. It was well into winter break now and homelife was getting more and more difficult. His father had managed to snag a job and what did that mean? More beer. More heroin. More crack. More fighting. More hitting. More..’rebirths’. Kevin left so the two youngings were left together now. That meant even more on Kenny since Stuart and Carol would never lay a hand on their little girl, even while drunk beyond description. Kenny had become more depressed lately and even more stressed out, making him more dependent on his friends. Of course, like every year, because it was Christmas, they all ignored him and didn’t pay him any mind. It was six months after he sent his last letter but he did his best not to think about it much. Or, at least tried not to. He didn’t know why but he found himself checking the mail daily and getting more and more upset each time there was nothing but bills and the regular notices. He rightfully assumed his Christmas would be more terrible than the previous fifteen. 

Kenny blinked roughly when he felt his arm being tugged on, stopping short of throwing a fist when he noticed it was his little sister. A beautiful little twelve year old with straight, little past shoulder length, soft brunette hair. She always had some dirt on her face and hands from playing in the such (it was really her only amusement besides broken dolls and a shitty TV). Her crystal eyes were huge as she stared at Kenny’s tightened hand, which he dropped. He sat up and rubbed his tired eyes, asking what she wanted so early in the morning. He frowned when she said it was Christmas. Was it? Hm, probably, she was the one with the calendar in her room. She got Kevin’s room when he left so she was no longer sleeping in the living room at night. He noticed that she was holding a slightly scuffed up yellow envelope. 

“Oh…” She shifted her weight to one foot when she noticed him staring at it. She held it out for him with a timid smile. “It came in last week while you were...busy.” Kenny assumed she meant high. “It said not to open until Christmas so I took it and kept it in my dresser. It’s for you, from your writing friend in France, right? -” She didn’t get to say anything because he quickly snatched it from her and torn it open. Before either of them got to see what was in it, Carol yelled from the living room that they had to get ready for church. 

The blond sighed and slipped the package underneath his mattress (hoping it wasn’t fragile) and quickly got dressed. Church was suicidal worthy as usual, droning on for /three/ /hours/. After that, the McCormicks went to the soup kitchen and got some Christmas dinner then went home. The moment he was home, Kenny shot to his room (shutting the door behind himself) and was instantly sitting on the bed with the package on his lap. Christophe sent him a Christmas present? Why? It had to have been expensive to send it..Kenny decided to pull out the letter first. Closing his eyes, he stuffed his hand in and felt around until he found paper and pulled it out. Kenny felt a blush grew across his face from the approval of his drawing, a pleasant smile forming on it’s own. Christophe’s writing put him into a strange sort of peace, with the exception of sudden anger from the information given about Mister DeLorne. An awful similarity they seemed to share. He stared at the letter for a little longer, his deep blue eyes just flicking across the paper at the different tics he had quickly became familiar with seeing in the other’s writing.

Now was the moment of truth! Kenny set the paper aside and reached into the package again, taking the thin plastic idem in his hand and slowly slid it out. His eyes widened dramatically at the drawing kit. Drawing kit. With charcoal, shading pencils, two erasers and a sharpening, pastel coloured pencils, and oil pastels. He wouldn’t be using the pastels since he /hated/ them but that was beside the point, Christophe bought him a drawing kit! It was a hundred times better than the simple drawing pencils he had! Without the slightest hesitation, Kenny got a blank piece of paper and instantly started on another drawing of a giraffe. He decided to use the pastel pencils seeing as he was the best with details with those outside of normal drawing/shading pencils. 

He went all out in this drawing, getting every little detail down that he possibly could. Sadly, he didn’t get to finish. He got the head and face done but while working on the mane, his father banged on the door. Kenny managed to messily stuff the drawing and letter into the envelope and throw it behind his bed before the door was swung open, the handle making the already defined crack on his wall from the thing larger. His father was one of the people that hated Kenny’s drawing, and cooking, and sewing, and everything he did that wasn’t sports. Stuart thought Kenny was too much of a girl to be his son but didn’t want an ‘ugly ass daughter’ like Kenny. Kenny looked like a deer in headlights as he stared at his father, the drawing kit tightly gripped in his hands. 

“What the hell is that?” Stuart growled, taking three large steps, setting him directly in front of the small blond. Who couldn’t find his voice. With a bit of struggling, he ripped the set from Kenny’s hands. “Are you still doing this shit?” His voice began raising, Ken simply looked down at his lap, not wanting to answer. Maybe if he didn’t fight, he’d give it back. “I thought I was clear that I don’t want you drawing! Where’d you even get this!? Did you steal again?” Ken shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.” He spat Kenny’s golden hair before turning and stomping out of the room, slamming the door behind him. 

It took a moment for Kenny to realise he had taken the kit. He lept to his feet and raced out of the room, noticed the fire outside of the living room window, and quickly left through the front door. The garbage men didn’t come to their house so they burned their trash once every two weeks in a metal barrel. Kenny watched as his father threw the freshly opened art kit into the large flames. With a shout, he shot over and reached into the fire for the kit but got a harsh elbow to the jaw, slamming him to the ground. A heel came down into the side of his ribs then the end of his shoe to his back. Not feeling the strength to fight back, the already bruised boy got to his feet and stared as the first present he’d received in years burned and melted. Hot tears formed and quickly streamed down his cheeks. Stuart said something about how only pussy girls cried but Kenny was already running back into the house and to his room. 

He tore out a piece of paper from his notebook and sat down with a pencil. He wrote on the top, “Sorry.” In harsh letters, the O tearing through a bit. His own body was shaking, hacks coming out here and there. Tears began dripping onto the paper. He started at the first line, his handwriting looking almost like chicken scratch instead of the normal elegant writing. “Sorry, Christophe. I guess I didn’t tell you that my dad hates me drawing, and basically everything I do, and me. I’m sure that art kit cost a lot of money from your pocket and I apologise a hell of a lot for this but my dad took it and set it on fire. That’s what we do with our trash because we’re to fucking poor to pay the damn taxes or whatever so we burn our trash. I hate my dad. Sorry about yours, by the way, he sounds like a douche.” Kenny could barely see what he was writing. The bottom half was covered in droplets by now. He skipped a line to start a new paragraph. 

“It’s been seven months since I sent my last letter by the way. Today’s Christmas. Merry Christmas. My little sister took the package you sent last week to make sure I wouldn’t open it until today. I only had it for about an hour. I fucking hate him.” His blurred vision didn’t catch that he was beginning to write crooked, going off the lines a bit. “I’m going to come visit you at the end of January, beginning of February.” He dropped his pencil to rub at his eyes for a minute, beginning to calm down again. After a minute, he looked back at the paper and sighed. It looked terrible. He didn’t want to get more paper and wanted to just go to sleep so he simply continued to write. Now writing his usual writing. “Seeing how these letters have been going lately, I doubt you’ll even have this letter by then, haha, won’t that be quite the surprise? My football team won nationals so we’re going on a trip. We decided to go to Paris for a week or so, I looked it up, from Paris to Bordeaux is roughly six hours. I don’t really like my team so I’m going to get a thing and drive down. It’d probably be a bit more enjoyable than just hanging out with them. I look forward to it. I just hope you’re not actually some creepy guy that’s going to kill me.

Again, I’m really sorry about your art kit. I loved it by the way. First Christmas present I’ve gotten for years and it was amazing! I really appreciate you buying it but I feel terrible that it went to waste.” Kenny had to skip around the paper with his last paragraph so he wouldn’t write through the wet spots on it. He got an envelope and wrote down everything then he put the crumpled giraffe and letter inside it but a thought popped into his head. The chance of this arriving before him wasn’t very likely. A small smirk curled at his lips. He decided to give it to his special Frenchman himself. That in mind, he put it in in a safe area and went to sleep.  
_______________________________________________ 

January went by quickly, thankfully. Kenny had saved up all his paychecks from the pet shop for eight weeks (64 dollars) and writing people Christmas cards (150 dollars) and birthday cards (16 dollars), two hundred and thirty dollars by the trip. He planned on converting it once in the other country as soon as possible. After checking, he found out that meant he’d have two hundred and one euros. How he had to get past was...the plane trip. The moment it was past ten feet from the ground, he was hyperventilating. It took Craig, Kyle, Stan, and even /Tweek/ to calm him down enough to not kill himself. His carry on had been his black papers, a mechanical pencil, his notebook, and Christophe’s letter. He drew ten pieces, one for each hour he was on the flying death trap. A dog, another, two cats playing together, three giraffes drawings, a sketch of Kenny’s mental image of Christophe, a baby giraffe and it’s mother standing side and side, and Craig sleeping. Craig got the window seat beside Kenny. He had been smart enough to put his things away before the end, hearing that the descent is worse than the take off. And for him it truly was. By the time they completely landed, he had emptied his entire stomach’s content and then some into four airplane bags and eventually went to the bathroom of the airplane (with Craig following him to keep an eye on him) to vomit a bit more. He looked and felt like a zombie getting off the plane and getting luggage. But then he remembered where he was! He was Paris! /France/! That instantly made him feel better. 

The second day in France was when the guardians decided to get their money transferred. Which was when Kenny slipped away to do the same in a different part of the building. Once he had his money, he walked to Craig and told him he was leaving. Craig already knew his plan and everything. No matter how stupid he personally thought it was. As rehearsed, Craig began to pretend having an asthma attack, Kenny shouted that they had forgotten his inhaler at the hotel. It didn’t take long for a crowd to form, which the blond used to slip away. Being from a quiet mountain town in America gave you two disadvantaged when in a large city in a foreign country. First, language barrier, plain and simple. But it seemed a lot of French people spoke broken English which was nice. Second, getting a taxi. He had expected it to be hard but he didn’t think it’d take /two hours/ to get one! He was exhausted! He actually had to ask for help, for god sakes! Which was awkward since he wasn’t the best with just talking to adults. Especially when the adult hardly understands what you’re saying and you it. 

However, he did finally get one. Which he repeated ‘merci’ probably a hundred times to the woman that helped him before climbing into the taxi. He asked the taxi driver how close he could get to Bordeaux with the money he had, holding the euros out for the man. Counting the money, the man roughly informed him that there’d be a bit more than a two hundred and fifty kilometers. Kenny didn’t know how far that actually was but simply nodded his head and told the taxi driver to proceed. Apparently taxi drivers in France at the nicest people in the world since the man took Kenny all the way to the heart of Bordeaux. Putting him one hundred and some euros over what he had given the man. When he went to protest, the man simply waved at him and told him to get out. Kenny decided not to protest and crawled out of the taxi with his letter tightly gripped in his hands. 

While walking down the crowded sidewalk, a gothic church’s bells went off. It startled him at first but he quickly took it to his advantage. Counting carefully in his head, he got to six repeats of the tone. It was six in the afternoon. Okay. The lost American boy realised he had no idea where he was suddenly and stopped walking, but regretted it quickly because the person behind him walked right into him. He was suddenly glad to not speak French with the way the man snapped at him. Looking around, Kenny found someone that looked like they weren’t busy and hurried over to them. It was a teenage boy, not much older looking than Kenny. He had combed back hair and bright blue eyes, his lightly tanned skin complimented well. He was texting but besides that, just standing against a building.

“Excuse me!” Kenny almost shouted, panting slightly. He had never been in such a crowded place before! This was terrifying! The boy looked up at him, looking a bit surprised and disgusted at Ken. “Can you help me? I’m from America, I’m really lost and I don’t have a phone or anything!” The boy relaxed slightly and nodded his head. “Oh thank god, thank you, sir! Um, can you tell me where this street,” Kenny brought up the letter and pointed to the address, “Is? It’s not exactly where I’m supposed to be going b-”

“Hold on a moment, excuse me.” Kenny blinked, he didn’t expect to be interrupted by a British voice. Didn’t the French and British like...hate each other ten fold? “That’s my address.” Kenny really didn’t expect that. Kenny opened his mouth to ask him what he meant but the boy suddenly looked at Kenny like he had five heads! “You’re Kenny?” He questioned. A smirk formed at the shocked expression. “You’re the American that’s been writing DeLorne for the past year or so, correct?” With a slow nod, the boy reached out and took Kenny’s wrist and began dragging him along with him. “I’m Gregory, I’m the ‘friend’ that that address belongs to that Christophe gave you to send your letters to. Lovely to meet you! What are you doing here?” 

Kenny was in a slight daze as he being dragged down the street and took a sudden turn. “Uh-” He didn’t even know to say right now. “Um, nice to meet you, Gregory!” He almost tripped as the taller boy continued to drag him down the French sidewalk. “Thank you for allowing me to use your address to stay in touch with Christophe! I really appreciate it!” They took another turn, Kenny noticed a street sign and also saw that neither of the names on it matched Gregory’s address. “My football team won a big championship so we took a trip to Paris, we arrived last night. I slipped away and got a taxi here to say hello to Chris! Where are you talking me?” 

Gregory looked back at him, raising a golden eyebrow. “That’s an expensive trip in a taxi, how did you manage to obtain so much money?” 

“I’ve saved my money for the past month and two weeks. I actually didn’t have enough money, I gave all of it to the driver but I was under by like one hundred and forty something euros. He said to get out anyway and not to worry about it, I’m just worried about getting back to Paris before my team leaves! Where are we going?”

“You really wanted to see my partner, didn’t you? I’m taking you to his house.” Gregory looked back forwards, quickening his pace so they were in a jog. Kenny didn’t know why but hearing ‘my partner’ made his chest hurt and lose his tongue so he just quickly followed behind the posh Brit. 

It didn’t take long to get to the house they were going to. When they got there, Greg went up the steps while Kenny stayed on the sidewalk and knotted on the wooden door with his knuckles. A middle aged women with brown hair and an ugly dress opened the door. “Oh, bonjour, Gregory?” She appeared to be slightly surprised to see him but they shared kisses on the cheeks (Kenny thought this was extremely bizarre) anyway. “Etes-vous ici pour Christophe?” Leaning over a bit, she looked at Kenny then back at the older boy. “Qui est-ce?” (Are you here for Christophe? Who is that?) 

“Bonjour madame,” He greeted with a polite smile. “Oui, Je suis ici pour Christophe.” He looked over his shoulder at Kenny then back at her, “C’est Kenny. Un ami.” Kenny straightened at his name, looking confused. “Il ne parle pas francais. Kenny, get up here, be polite.” He obeyed and quickly climbed the porch steps, staring wide eyes at the lady. “Kenny, this is Miss DeLorne, Christophe’s mother.” (Hello ma’am. Yes, I’m here for Christophe. That’s Kenny. A friend. He doesn’t speak French.)

“Oh...Bonjour madame.” Kenny held out a gloved hand to her. She took it with a forced politeness. 

Gregory looked between them, feeling the tension and cleared his throat. Ms DeLorne looked at him then stepped aside for them to enter the house. Kenny stayed close behind Gregory as he lead the way to what Kenny assumed was Christophe’s bedroom. With each step, he felt more and more nauseous. When Greg raised his hand and knocked on the bedroom door, calling for Chris to come out in the hall, Ken swore he was going to black out.


	10. Chapter 10

It had been more then a few months since he had sent off his letter, and while his mailbox continued to remain empty he found that he wasn't nearly as bothered. Sure Christophe nudged his post box with a rough boot every time there was nothing but bills and adds for his mother out of impatience, but he was confident that it would come. Eventually there would be an envelope addressed to him, with swirling letters on the front. One of these days without fail he would have a response that he was sure of. In the meantime however? He had managed to land himself an odd sort of job, working with technicians to either repair computer code that had been infected by viruses..or tear them apart for a handsome amount of coin. Unlike most however it wasn't a weekly affair and in fact he had only been sought out by three clients since being first introduced into the underground game. If anything good could of ever come from his bastard of a fathers visits it was the learning of his own potential. Christophe had always been rather savy with the workings of technology, quick to learn what the drop menus..numbers, buttons and functions hidden in each monitors fine print meant. It was just something that he could catch onto a lot faster then speech or math, science and even proper social edict. It was thanks to his work that the teen had managed to purchase a home computer for himself, which he spent an unhealthy amount of time on during their Christmas break. Hiding away to both entertain his insomnia riddle mind during this ridiculously tourist packed month and attempt at avoiding his mandatory and annual visit to church. He'd almost gotten away with missing out, had the clever woman not caught him climbing out of his bedroom window. It was an unfortunate holiday, but as he sat slouched in the pews with his legs crossed and chin propped up on his folded knuckles Mole was embarrassed to admit that he wondered about Kenny more then once. 

What was his American companion doing? Was he sitting in a nauseating church sermon to? Was he at home .or amongst friends..was he, alright. 

Well, he had assumed the boy was suffering through much of the same thing. School, family drama, cliques and the cold. It was always frozen over in Kenny's mountain town he had learned, thanks to reading over it on the internet, it stayed snowy in France for a very brief time. Point being! Never in his life could he have ever expected that his reply wouldn't only come in the form of paper when it finally did show up on his door step in the form of a knock. Christophe paused, looking up from his boots laces at the sound. Hesitating for a moment to see if his mother was going to answer or call him down stairs to do it for her. Presumably the brunet woman had deemed the visitor safe to interact with because he was left alone. Furrowing his brows as a form of indifference the teen knotted up the laces. Doing much of the same to his left foot before standing up. Christophe was dressed for the occasion it seemed. Having planned on being outside with his douchebag of a companion the taller was clad in brown cargo pants. Duct tapped at the knees due to their age and worn state. A simple black turtle neck sweater covered his broad shoulders, zipped up to his chin and covering his gloved knuckles which flinched for his phone. The rugged thing sitting on his desk across the room. "Brit stupide.." (Stupid Brit) he snickered, glancing over the text he had recieved while he turned to make his way towards his bedroom window. He found no need to answer the damn thing seeing as how they were going to be seeing each other in thirteen minutes and forty six...seconds?

"Que se passe-t-il? Gregory?" (What’s happening? Gregory?) he scoffed, recognizing that accent in a second and growing just as irritated over it. Had he really been so impatient that he came to drag Mole out into the streets? Frowning at the thought he crossed back across his dim room with an sigh. "Vous ne pouviez pas attendre dix minutes afin putain - " (You can’t wait ten minutes so fucking-) he grabbed his door knobs handle while he snapped. Twisting it with a jerk. "- vous êtes venu à harceler ma mère à la porte?" (you came to harass my mother at the door?) his dark green hues glared at the British blonde first once he swung the wooden barrier open. Of course it was Gregory and as he lifted a brow in question his peripheral vision picked up on a second figure. Just behind the thin neatly groomed males shoulder and looking about as wide eyed and terrified as a dumb pigeon about to be run down by a cat. He did a brief once over of the unfamiliar face before cocking his head to the side to continue his very one sided stand off with the Brit but froze. Christophe did a sharp double take, utterly flabbergasted and it showed. Face widening, jaw falling slack and chin lifting in time with a flustered red blush from the shock of knowing who this person was. It didnt take a damn rocket scientists to figure it out. What with the envelope being clutched by the /blue/ eyed /blond/ haired boy? 

"......" how did he react?

Christophe panicked, smothered by the suddenly awkward air of it all. What was he supposed to say? Well for starters, something like 'hello' or 'how did you get here' would of been good. But instead he rapidly blinked and quite suddenly retreated by shoving the door closed again. Holy fuck he mentally gapped, staring at the handle he was now strangling with his grip. His heart was running a million miles a minute and the only thing that came to mind was the absolute embarrassment he felt, timidity.

Kenny took in a sharp breath when the door was suddenly swung open, his eyes falling on..a chest? Holy shit, Christophe tall! He was like, a /foot/ taller than him! He tilted his head up to stare at him with his bug eyes. Kenny never really acknowledged how short he truly was until moments like this. When he was literally hidden behind who ever he was behind. Given that the alarming olive eyes didn’t even notice him until a second later, though it was very obvious to Kenny that he was not recognised until moments later. He looked about as shocked as Kenny felt nervous. Said American boy took a physical step away when Christophe finally took in just who was behind the British male. Was he going to actually like him? Tell him to go away? The slam of the door brought him out of his paranoid thoughts with a flinch. Well, that’s a confidence boost, thanks Chris. 

“Oh..” Gregory said after a small pause, slightly surprised when the door was slammed in his face before he could even speak. Glancing back at the boy, who took another step back, he smirked and rolled his eyes. Without hesitation, Greg took the handle and forced the door back open and himself into the room. Kenny took yet another step back, he was now standing just before the wall. He was beginning to regret his decision now, his hands trembling terribly. “Que pensez-vous que vous faites? Retournez là-bas et dire bonjour à lui, il a fait beaucoup pour arriver ici!” (What do you think you're doing? Go back there and say hello to him, he did a lot to get here!) On most occasions, Gregory spoke English to his French companion in a forced way to teach him how to speak the language himself but, sometimes, he spoke the other’s mother language. This was one of those times for the reasoning that he didn’t want Kenny to know what he was saying. Just as confidently as he had opened the door, Gregory took Christophe’s wrist and pulled him back into the hallway and closed the door behind them. He blinked at the orange winter coat wearing boy pressed against the wall but shook his head and smiled. “Have fun, I have a job to get to!” That was a lie, the only plans he had that day were with Christophe but that was unimportant. With a slap on Christophe’s shoulder, Greg nodded his head at Ken and left down the stairs and out the house before any of the three others in the house could stop him. 

Now being on the spot, Kenny realised he had never introduced himself to someone. Every single one of his friends were introduced to him and he them from a third party. How do you do it? And in a situation like this? Both slight hermits, neither of them ever saying a word to each other before (verbally at least), Kenny could probably pass out right now and feel a hundred times better. He was on a verge of puking. ‘Wait shit, you’ve been staring for too long, it’s getting weird! Say something, dumbass!’ “Uh-..I..” ‘Great, now you look retarded. Real’ smooth, McCormick.’ “Here.” Kenny held out the letter and quickly looked away from Christophe. His one hand was still shaking but he forced himself to control it in the one being held out. He felt like an idiot, what was he doing here? He was in a stranger’s house in /France/ and couldn’t even bring himself to talk! A+ people skills, right there. Wow, it was really hot here. Maybe he should take his coat off..The thought had gone through his head while on the crowded streets but it was getting worse now that he was so nervous but, as he had in the first time it came through his head, he ignored the thought. 

The french boy quickly let his wide eyed look slip into a heavy set scowl at himself. Why the fuck had he done that? Recovering from slamming a door in the face of someone you already considered..your friend was going to be a bitch. How did you start conversation? 'Oh sorry, didnt see you there?' 

Christophe inhaled deeply, closing his deep green hues to calm the frantic beat of his heart so that his face wouldn't look so red and flustered. He wasn't good with talking to people, the track record of his attempts at doing so was long enough to concrete this fact. To put it short, he just didnt like the concept of being social at all. Because being able to carry a conversation that was pleasant and normal was hard for him. Unless it was something he was passionate about, which consisted of arguing. He didn't share anything personal with strangers if he could help it. Thats how rumors were stomped.

The brunet chomped on the side of his cheek, Kenny wasn't entirely a stranger though. He knew a few things about him that Gregory hadn't been allowed to learn for years. Like his father issues. 

And he could give himself a peptalk for hours over making this as smooth as possible, because really this /was/ Kenny he was talking about. But the time wasn't going to allow him to do so. Christophe flinched his hand away from the doorknob as it twisted and his pulse was instantly spiraling into a crazy pattern. Why was meeting this one person wreaking such havoc on him? Whatever the reason when Gregory pulled open his bedroom door Tophe slipped him the middle finger. Screw you for not warning me because now I ruined this! He scoffed, knowing full well that the british brute would eventually bring this back up. Make it into a joke for years to come. "Pest Être? Mais qu'est-ce que je dis maintenant Gregory?" (Can be? What do I say now Gregory?) he murmured quickly, hesitation written upon his tense walk when the two companions went back out into the hallway..one by force, to confront the american visitor. Who with a lift of his chin to peek around the Brit, he noted was standing on the other side of the hallway. Looking utterly regretful of being caught up in such a painfully awkward situation like this. Baby blues wavering with panic..

Christophe blinked out of his blunt staring when clapped on the shoulder rather roughly. Gregory was leaving? He half turned to watch the other leave with a frustrated glare set into his tanned features. Way to drop a bomb and not clean up the mess. Fucking bastard. The Mole snorted lightly, he didnt need the boy to speak. Not a damn..bit? 

It occurred to the french teen many tense seconds later that the language barrier was going to he an issuse. The simple offering of a with held letter and one single word reminding him of it. Sure, Christophe had the ability to speak english when he really wanted to but it was thick with a mixture of his original language and accent. Like he was talking around glue full of sharp ass nails Gregory told him when they were younger. Speaking would take careful, tedious thought. So when he extended his hand to accept the long awaited letter he stated his words very carefully. Punctuating each one clearly. It wasnt so bad when he tried, or didnt have to speak around so many vowels. "Merci, Kenny." he hummed, the name felt odd coming from his mouth but he quirked the corner of his lips up regardless. 

Be pleasant, easy for someone who had stricken him with so much interest he told himself. "Uhn..so did you trek all the way here, just for a letter?" he mused, recalling that the other blonde had said his penpal had worked hard to make it to this branch of France.

Kenny’s cheeks filled in with deep crimson in response to his name. When the letter was taken from his hand, he snapped it back to his side. After a moment of convincing himself, he looked back at his..friend. His deep blue eyes kept glancing about Christophe’s face, taking in details of his facial features. He was almost gorgeous if Kenny had to say so himself. His features were perfectly symmetrical and rather chiseled but still soft and pleasant. He had scoffs and a few little permanent-looking cuts with a slightly more defined scarred cut on the side of his chin. His hair was choppily cut, messy and unkempt, he looked like he had just woken up. But at the same time, it looked like that’s probably how it always was. It looked good on him. He had bags under his eyes that were just noticeably darker than the rest of his skin. Kenny felt a sort of pride with how well he had managed to draw him without a single picture. The pride vanished instantly when he realised he was staring for far longer than one should.

“N-no..” He said after a moment, focusing on the bridge of his nose. There was no possible way he could bring himself to look Chris in the eye. “I um..” He brought up his hand and rubbed the side of his neck, his gloves were soft and relaxed him a bit, but not much. “It’s in the letter! I’m here for sports stuff..I guess. But I left the group! Because I don’t really like my team and I wanted to meet you more than I wanted to stay with them!” He all but shouted out, pressing further into the wall. Then he realised what he said. His eyes widened slightly and his cheeks darkened, if possible. “Not to sound weird or anything! I mean, I know we don’t know each other very well and I don’t have much right to just show up at your house but I thought it’d be nice! I-if you want me to leave, that’s fine too!” He looked at the floor, his nails digging into his neck through the brown cloth. “Christ, you can probably only barely understand me..I’m sorry.” 

This was such a terrible idea! What was he thinking!? As he had said, he had no right to just show up all unannounced like he had! What if Chris had been really busy!? What if he hadn’t even been home!? What if Gregory hadn’t showed up?! He could have gotten killed on just the off chance that he could meet someone he didn’t even know! Now that he thought about it, why did he want to meet Christophe so badly? He prefered to just stay to himself. He wasn’t incredibly outgoing outside of sports, so..Why was he willing to get lost forever in a different country to meet someone he had only barely talked to over the course of a year? Kenny suddenly felt a wave of heat hit him that made him sway to the side a bit and roll his head around. He could feel himself sweating as the room pulsed with green and purple splotches that followed in a trial after his gaze back to the Frenchman. He was panting now. “It’s really hot in here..” He mumbled weakly, mostly to himself. 

He wasnt sure if it was possible for someone to blush such an intense shade of red like that he noted..and his second thought was whether or not it was a heathly show of emotion because the blonde looked about ready to melt on the spot and sink between the floorboards just below their feet. Yet..in an odd sense, seeing how much the other was panicking gave his nerves a sense of calm. He wasnt the only one having a difficult time with this completely random meeting, and in fact he may very well be the calmer one out of the two. Somehow, this eased the fluttering feeling in his gut and he loosened his tight grip on the edges of Kenny's letter considerably. It was going to be fine. Just..fine..he hoped. They could carry on eventually, just like they did on paper. He just had to find a way to chistle through the tense layer of ice so that the words could flow easily. Without hesitation and certainly not quiet, yelled, or mumbled. Christophe breathed in slowly at the thought. Lifting his gaze up from the nilla surface of the letter to look back at the nervous american across the way. Pressed into the wall as if he hoped he could meld with it and wide eyes flicking about the taller. For a brief moment green clashed with the clarity of blue and Christophe found himself crumpling again. Blinking rapidly and jolting to the side with a glance that was aimed at nothing in particular. Kenny was..staring. Intensely studying even and while he often recieved such a gaze due to both his behavior or his appearance, it was different having those clear baby blues watching. Different because for once Christophe gave a god damn about what someone might be thinking, noticing. For the second time since this project began he questioned himself. Exactly how much did this boy amount to him? A friend, and until now a faceless one, was a title he could easily give the other. But had Gregory's ill placed joke been right? Had he really been hanging on a response? Was he really so attached to the paper in these envelopes that when he jumped the stairs two at a time to get to his companion when he showed up announcing the arrival of one..that he looked wild eyed, awake, electrified and dare that british bastard say, pleased..happy?

He snapped his attention back to the blonde when his voice stuttered through the silence. What did you feel, when my words finally made it to your mailbox. The question went unanswered, hanging in the back of his mind the longer the Kenny spoke. His voice wasnt exactly what the french man had expected, but in all honesty he wasnt sure what he had truly expected when this started.

Christophe quirked up his lips the slightest, he couldnt speak english very well at all he wanted to snicker. But that didn't mean he couldnt understand it when it was being spoken. Sure, some of the words were empty to the frenchman simply because the definition eluded him but he was capable. Competent enough that he was mentally picking out phrases the blonde was all but yelling and applying coy responses return. The difficult part was making them verbal and now didnt seem like the time. The taller frowned at the ragged sound of Kenny's breathing and he was quick to take in exactly /what/ the blonde was clad in and it was definitely not the kind of apparel meant for the weather they were having today. "Uhn..its probably because your wearing a parka?" he pointed out, crossing the space so that he could grip at the others thin shoulders. Applying just enough preasure to guide Kenny down so he could sit on the floor just encase he actually did pass out? That'd be a good first impression you idiot. "Which you should take off dumbass..its only spring here." he muttered, eyeing said zipper with apprehension. "You'll pass out before you get to see anything after all ditching your team."

Kenny tensed even further with Christophe taking his shoulders and guiding him to the floor. With a weak sort of chuckle, he gave a weak smirk that just hardly showed off his tooth gap and said, “Wow, already trying to get me out of my clothing, DeLorne? I didn’t take you for that kinda guy, honestly~” Everything was spinning now, he was grateful that Chris had forced him to sitting, honestly. 

“Non!” Christophe barked, heat exploding in his cheeks and going to his ears. “You idiot, it’s too damn hot for that jacket! Take it off before you-” and there he went. Almost on cue, Kenny blacked and slumped sideways onto the floor. Christophe was shocked for a moment before rolling his eyes and gritting his teeth, “Stupid.” He grunted, standing up. Debating for a moment, he awkwardly picked up Kenny’s unhealthily light body and took him into his bedroom. Setting him on the bed, he had a small war with Kenny’s jacket to get it off but won eventually and tossed it onto the floor. Oddly enough, he wasn’t to surprised by the old ratted shirt Kenny was wearing underneath. 

Sighing, Christophe went to his desk and sat down. He had nothing better to do now then to open Kenny’s letter and read it. He stared at the slightly crumbled drawing of the griffa, thinking it was honestly amazing. Actually, he felt a little pleased with the fact that Kenny had drawn him another giraffe with his present. Going to the letter, his face contorted into a deep frown. It was the most unpleasant letter he’d received from the chipper American yet. Turning in his chair, he looked over at the unconscious boy and sighed. What was he supposed to do with him now?


End file.
